


The Weight of the Past

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:51:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Hello. Hope we're not bombarding you with prompts but well here goes. Root and Shaw are married and for the first time in her life Shaw suffers from PTSD. She has nightmares, night sweats,shouts and screams when she remembers her life as a marine. Root can't bare to see her wife in pain and does everything in her power to help and comfort her. Shaw finds the only thing that helps is when she's near Root and they cuddle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of the Past

Running. Running down this dark path, black everywhere, no sounds of civilization. No where to turn- no where to hide. Just running- running- so much running. She can hear her breath labored and small, only a kid.  _I’m only a kid_. People are behind her, chasing her. They are wolves. She is a lamb. Suddenly, everything shifts around her, and before she knows it the dark world morphs into a dark room. The walls are musty and stone, dank with the sounds of water dripping in far off shadows.  _Older. I’m older now_. She can feel the straps on her wrists and ankles, and the gag in her mouth. Everything smells like spoiled meat and blood. Her heart picks up- knowing exactly where she is. A man with a Cheshire Cat grin steps from the dark, rusted pipe in hand. He smacks it dully across his opposite palm, and the sound echoes around the solid room. He comes closer, eyes filled with pleasure at his task. He raises it to strike, and she feels herself ripped from this scenario into another. Looking around, she sees the large rifle in her hand, and the man beside her.

"Shaw, come on we gotta  _go!_ ”

* * *

 

There is another man at her opposite side, both in large SWAT masks and dark blue camouflage.  _The marines_. Looking down, she sees herself in the same attire. From behind her, gunfire rains and savage voices scream into the night air. She runs. Running, running to the nearest cover. Skidding down, she positions her gun, and her sleeve rides up. On her right wrist, she can see the beginning of her tattoo- the symbol of the Marine Corps. The chasing party comes into sight, guns blazing as they shoot aimlessly in their direction. Shaw fires with precision, hitting two. Beside her, one of the men gets shot, and he drops, writhing in pain beside Shaw. The scene is ripped from her eyes again, and she is in a room. Alone.  _What is this place?_

It isn’t familiar, it is gray and empty and cold. Looking to her left, she feels a presence. She tilts her head down and terror fills her eyes.  _Cole_. He’s dead. There’s no sign of anyone- anything that had done this to him- just a body and a floor. Shaw kneels down to him, horrified.

"Cole. Cole." She shakes him. Nothing. Then, his eyes open- roll back. Dark, crazed laughter escapes his lips, teeth slicked in thick blood, and Shaw rips her hands from him.

"Blame it on Control," he screams at her in a voice not his own. "Blame it on Control! Blame it on Control!"

She stands, backing away. Her heart is hammering in her chest, lungs burning. Her eyes are wild, trying to look anywhere except Cole, but failing miserably. She backs into something soft. Turning, there is a man- a familiar one- staring her down. He wears a dark gray suit and a stern expression.

"Are you Control?" She asks.

"No. But I am the closest you will ever get to Control." And in a flash, the scene burns before her eyes, and she finds herself on a side street. Everything is dark.  _I know this place I…_ She turns her head, hearing footsteps. From behind her, she notices an approaching shadow figure she knows all too well. _Come on move move move_ , she screams to herself, willing her legs to work. They don’t. Her heart picks up, and her breathing comes out in raspy gasps as the shadow figure comes closer, until it is upon her. She sees the syringe in his hand- glinting in the deserted street light- and tries once more to run. To hit something, move anything. Only her head seems to move. The shadow figure brings the needle close to her, Shaw already knowing what’s in it.  _Poison_. It pierces her skin. _I’m going to die I have to ru-_

Shaw shoots to a sitting position in bed, nails digging into the needle just above her shoulder. Ripping it away, only… looking down with fast breaths, she realizes what is in her grip is not a needle, but a hand. Looking to her right, her eyes meet another, worried pair. In the moon’s white light, Shaw can make out wavy hair and chocolate eyes. With a sigh, she releases her death grip and falls back onto the mattress with a guttural noise.

"Sameen, are you okay?" Root’s voice is a whisper next to Shaw’s ear. Root rolls over to her side, looking down on Shaw’s hyperventilating form. She looks at Shaw’s face, contorted in some sort of pain, and sweat breaks on her forehead. Root’s face turns down in a sad slant. " _Sam._ ”

"Fine, Root," she retorts, rolling her head away from Root. Root brings her fingers to Shaw’s face, and slowly rolls it back to face her. She leaves her hand there, fingers along Shaw’s jawline.

"I don’t believe you. You were shaking, and yelling, and-"

"I don’t want to hear it," Shaw says, voice quiet and defeated as her breathing begins to slow. She brings her hand to her right wrist, itching at the tattoo that was once in that place.

"But  _I_ want to hear what was going on,” Root sits up in bed and tugs at Shaw’s arm. With another sigh, Shaw sits, the heels of her palms pushing into her eyes.

"Just- I don’t know, Root," she utters at last, knowing very well what was going on. Marines- ISA- everything. All crashing down on her in a way it never has before. She shudders, remembering the uncontrollable fear that raged through her veins mere minutes ago. Root gives her a sympathetic look, then shifts on the bed. Coming behind her, Root brings her legs to either side of Shaw’s, chin resting on Shaw’s shoulder. She rubs Shaw’s arms with her hands, thumbs tracing small, comforting circles.

"You’re going to be fine."

"I  _am_  fine,” Shaw spits, but feels her tension melt under Root’s fingers. After a moment, she yawns. Looking to the digital clock on the table, Shaw sees the time.  _2:20 a.m_. “I- I didn’t mean to wake you,” Shaw apologizes, rubbing her eyes. They sit in silence a moment more.

Shaw feels herself slipping into a tired mindset, but the thought of running that mortifying course again is enough to pry her eyes back open. She feels Root’s body against hers, as Root slowly pulls Shaw back down. Her arms wrap around Shaw, encasing her in warmth.

"Root, I’m fine," Shaw insists once more, pulling Root’s arm from across her waist. "You can let go." Root only shimmies closer. She untangle’s her arm from Shaw’s grasp, and wraps it even tighter across Shaw’s waist. Nestling her nose into the crook of Shaw’s neck, she sighs out pleasantly.

"Can’t hear you. Sleeping."

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Root, ge-“

” _Shh_ ,” Root’s hush trails off as her breathing slows to a sleep-filled rhythm. Shaw peers over at her, seeing nothing more than a sea of brown waves, and reluctantly puts her hand over Root’s. Sighing, she lets her head droop to the side, resting on Root’s, and slowly drifts back to sleep.

________\ If Your Number’s Up /________

Shaw awakens to silent breathing in her ear. The sun streaks into her eyes, and she has to squint to see. Peering down, she sees she’s shifted slightly. The blanket is to the side, revealing intertwined legs. She can feel Root’s arms positioned snugly around her, and watches her own fingers on Root’s forearm. Stifling a yawn, she brings her hand up to Root’s hair, brushing it back from her face gently.  _I slept… well_ , she admits to herself, seeing Root’s sleeping face. Shaw smiles in spite of herself, bringing the last strand of brown hair behind Root’s ear. She stirs.

"Morning," Root greets groggily, picking her head up some to look at Shaw. A sweet smile comes to her face. "Sleep okay?"

Shaw nods. “Yeah, you?”

” _Mmhmm_ ,” Root replies with a small yawn. She untangles herself from Shaw, reaching across her to the table on Shaw’s side of the bed. “Harold’s going to kill us,” Root murmurs, seeing the abundance of missed calls.

Shaw sits up, taking the phone from Root, and stands to get dressed.

"Hi, Harold," she says into the phone, holding it between her ear and shoulder as she pulls on a pair of black jeans.

"Where have you and Miss. Groves been?" Shaw looks back at her wife, getting dressed by the opposite side of the bed. "Miss. Shaw..?"

"We’ll be there in five." She hangs up on him quickly, grabbing her light jacket from the bedroom doorknob. "We’ve gotta go," she tells Root, who sends a small smile her way. With guns concealed and ear wigs in, they head out Shaw’s apartment door.

Outside, the day is warmer than usual, and Shaw relishes the heat that sinks into her skin. Looking over, she sees Root’s hair illuminated by the sun’s glow. Turning her head, Root sees Shaw watching her and smiles.

Harold’s voice comes to them through their ear pieces. “Miss. Shaw?”

"Yes?" Both reply together, and Shaw instantly sends Root an angered look. Root tries to conceal her amused smile.

"I, um, well," Harold starts, realizing he is at fault. " _Sameen_  Shaw. The number seems to be closer to your location; I think it’d be better if you didn’t come straight here, but started searching up that way.”

"Got it," Shaw replies blandly, scorching eyes fixed on Root. "Why did  _you_  answer?” Shaw grumbles between clenched teeth.

"We’re  _married_ ,” Root trills lightly. “So.. that’s my name,  _too_ …”

Shaw  shoves her roughly. “I thought we agreed you were going to  _stop_  that,” she hisses, and Root can’t help but laugh.

"Well excuse me," she replies with humor, and Shaw looks away, searching for the face of their number. Suddenly, a woman fitting her description comes into view, eyes masked with glasses and a baseball cap shading her features.

"I see her, Harold." Instantly, Root looks in that direction, forgetting all previous bantering.

"Who are the people behind her?" Hearing Root’s words, Shaw shifts her gaze back, and notices a trio of muscular men following a few feet behind. She crosses the street towards Shaw, and the men soon follow.

"Ready, Root?" Shaw asks, slipping her hand to the handle of her gun. She holds it firm, ready to whip it out at a moment’s notice. From her side, Root nods. Then, the first man draws a hand gun fit with a silencer. The one to his left withdraws a larger piece of equipment. Suddenly, Shaw’s sight warps, and sharp white flashes spray across her vision. Bullets- everywhere. Her surroundings flicker between a New York Street and a ghost town filled with unsuspecting victims. Shaw’s heart rate quickens, and she swallows hard as she looks over to Root. But who she sees is not-  _can’t be…_

It’s a woman Root’s height, fitted into a Marine’s uniform, large rifle in hand. A mask conceals her face, but she turns to look at Shaw, hair twisted out around her. There is more flashing and echoing gunshots, and Shaw watches this person flicker between a Marine and Root. Her own hands flicker between bare skin and black gloves. The gunfire is overwhelming now, each shot ringing in her ears; she brings her hands to them to block out the noise.  _Why is nobody running, why is nobody running?_  All around her, ghost town passers meander down the road as the large group of gun wielding men open fire before her. She watches people drop, but no one picks up the pace.  _I need cover, there has to be cover, I_ \- she looks back to her side, and sees Root. Normal attire and a scared look in her eyes.  _What is she doing here?_ Shaw’s mind screams as the world around her fills with the loud bursts of gunfire.  _She shouldn’t be here._

"Sameen," Root’s voice is nervous, and she continues to quickly glance straight ahead before returning her gaze to Shaw.

"Miss. Shaw- Groves- is everything alright?"  _That voice. Where is it coming from._ Shaw can feel the panic in her chest as she looks left to right, neck swiveling savagely around. She does a 360, coming back to look at the large group of gun-firing men. More flashing, and the group of twenty turns to three, all with small guns, then back to the mob of angry foreigners and heavy weapons. Shaw can feel her throat constricting as more shots fly. This time, it’s Root.

Easily, she strikes down the three culprits- their number runs away screaming. All around, people on the New York City street stop, and murmuring questions fill the air. Grabbing Shaw’s hand, Root rips her from the forming circle and to the nearest empty side street. She stops, seeing how pale Shaw is, every muscle wound to the point of snapping, and feels a deep pang of sadness in her heart.

"Miss. Groves, what happened back there." Harold insists. Root shakes her head.

"I’ll… tell you when I find out…" She replies, voice dumbstruck. Shaw looks at her, eyes wide and breath short, until slowly- agonizingly slowly- everything starts fading.

The ghost town slides far back, and New York comes through. The gunfire dials down to nothing more than footsteps on the sidewalks. She looks to her hands- sees them bare. She brings one to her weary head.

"What the hell happened back there?" Root demands, and Shaw closes her eyes tight.

"I saw- I saw  _people._ " She says with confusion. "But not  _those_  people, people from before,when I was-… I was a Marine.” Root’s eyes soften, but her voice remains harsh from all the strain on her heart- all the worry and bewilderment and utter terror.

"And you freaked out?" She persists. After a moment, Shaw nods.

"Nothing looked the same- it wasn’t- there was at least  _ten_  of them- guns  _everywhere_  and people were- people were  _dropping_  and no one  _cared_ \- you weren’t you- and then you  _were_  you, and-“

"Hey,  _hey_. Calm down.” Root puts her hands on Shaw’s shoulders, voice a soft coo now. Harold begins to speak once more in her ear, but she ignores him. “I’m taking you home, there’s no way you can-“

"I’m not going home, Root," Shaw interrupts, pushing herself up from the wall. She stuffs her hands into her pockets, angered and embarrassed at their small tremors. Root shoots her a cross look.

"It wasn’t a request," she retorts, linking her arm in Shaw’s. She drags her down the back street, hearing police sirens head to the three shot men, "It’s a statement." Shaw remains silent, part of her relieved.

"It was just my lack of sleep," Shaw says at last, not quite meeting Root’s eyes- afraid of the pain she know’s she’ll find in them. "A cup of coffee and I’ll be good to go."

"Did you ever think that maybe- just  _maybe_ \- all the things from your past might find a way to catch up with you?” Her voice is a distraught whisper. “To haunt you?”

” _Haunt_  me? I never felt a thing then, so-“

"Exactly," Root points out, voice stronger now. "You never felt it then. But you’re feeling it  _now_.” Silently, Root stalks back towards their street with angered strides, and Shaw lets her tired form be lugged away.

_____________\ We’ll Find You /_____________

 _I do not have PTSD_ , Shaw tells herself for the umpteenth time as she stands, arm still locked to Root’s, in the elevator.  _It’s not possible- it can’t be. I feel practically nothing- how could I ever feel this? Enough for it to be that? I only have one disorder,_  she thinks grumpily,  _and it’s an Axis II_. The elevator doors slide open, and Root hustles them back into the apartment. For a time, Root had been discussing something with Harold on a private line, yet she was so invested in her own thoughts she barely noticed. Now, coming to, she hears Root sign off, and watches as she takes the earwig out. Root looks over to Shaw, then does a double take- noticing Shaw stare at her.

"Everything alright?" Root asks. She nods. Locking the door behind her, Root lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, and struggles to fight back anguish.  _I hate it when she’s in pain,_  she thinks miserably, looking at Shaw.  _She’s not in it much, but when she is, I hate it._  She walks Shaw to the couch, not letting go- not  _wanting_  to let go. She sits Shaw down, then quickly follows, wanting to be near her. Root can feel her antsy nerves as they run worried circles in her brain. Partially for Shaw, and partially for her own sanity, Root snuggles in close, wrapping her arms around Shaw’s middle and resting her head on Shaw’s shoulder. Breathing in, she smells Shaw’s hair, her skin- it smells like home. Closing her eyes, she wants all this- _this pain_ \- Shaw has to vanish, but she knows it won’t be that easy.

"We’re going to figure this out, Sweetie," Root assures Shaw, wanting to say something to her. Shaw smiles, leaning her head back on the couch.

"Feeling better already," Shaw admits, sliding her hand into one of Root’s, a large wave of exhaustion overpowering her. She yawns, feeling drained from the commotion not too long ago. Everything still seemed fresh in her mind, but the more she sat there, the more it went away. She keeps thinking of where she is.  _I’m with Root. And we are safe. And it’s fine_. She smiles at the thoughts, letting her eyes drift shut. Bringing her hands down, Shaw lifts Root’s legs onto the couch. With a small, calmed smile, Root moves her arms up, letting them loop around Shaw’s neck while her knees drape across her legs. Shaw traces out continuous circles around Root’s knee, feeling the rough surface of denim and the heat just beneath. Gradually, her circling slows, until it stops completely. A moment more, and a silent snoring makes its way from Shaw’s lips.

Root, moving only her eyes, looks to Shaw’s face, and smiles in relief at the sight- the peace.


End file.
